


Retribution.

by cyberrsoot2



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Criminal Minds RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - FBI, Angst, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Blood and Injury, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Gen, Originally Posted on Wattpad, Revenge, Sad Ending, True Crime, Violence, but i decided to post it here, i have like 3 books i'm writing at the same time, pls someone take my computer away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28911396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyberrsoot2/pseuds/cyberrsoot2
Summary: "After Reid's death, she isolated herself. Hotch said she could take as long as she needed to grieve, but we never knew her isolation would lead to this." -JJ."I tried everything I could to get her out of that apartment. I guess it just wasn't enough." -Morgan."I'm busy, can we do this later?" -Hotch."I don't- I don't really wanna talk about this right now. Could I talk about how much she made me smile instead?" -Garcia."She was an amazing agent, and an even better friend. Sometimes I wonder if I had been a little more insistent on getting her in therapy, she'd still be alive. But Hotch told me not to think that way, so I guess I won't." -Prentiss."She left a hole in the team that, no matter how many new agents we brought in, could never be filled." -Rossi.
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue [The World Wasn't Wide Enough]

Gunshots.

My ears rang loudly as gunshots went off all around me. Photos crashed off of the walls, chairs toppled over, I could hear the sounds of my teammates fighting the criminals we were working hard to secure.

I crouched behind a counter in the kitchen of the small house we were trapped in. Morgan was crouched beside me as he peeked over the side of the counter to shoot at the tall, lanky Miguel Baldwin hiding across from us behind a table. Hotch, Rossi and Prentiss were somewhere upstairs, shooting at the second unsub, a short, strong Cora Nichols, and JJ and Reid were, well, somewhere I didn't know of trying to take down the third unsub, an African-American man, Jamie Alexander, as well as a few officers from the local police department who were looking for the fourth unsub, a skinny teenager who went by Eddie Lawson.

I peeked around the corner of the counter only to be met by the face of Baldwin. I shot at him, but he spotted me and ducked back around the table again. My face was twisted in anger, dark brown eyes narrowed as I tried to see better in all the commotion and destruction. Dust flooded my eyes from the broken tile and drywall that had endured most of our bullets. I turned my head to look at Morgan, who was looking back at me. We had to move spots, Baldwin already knew we were here. Morgan seemed to understand what I was trying to say, and he used his hand to signal to the island across from the counter. I nodded and peeked around the side to make sure the unsub wasn't looking, then darted across the kitchen to the marble island in the center of the room. I heard deafeningly loud gunshots ringing out behind me, but luckily I wasn't hit. I heard a sharp gasp behind me which caused me to quickly turn around to make sure Morgan was okay. He had been shot, but they luckily had only hit his Kevlar vest. I breathed a breath of relief. "You okay?" I shouted over the noise of the gunshots.

"Yeah, bastard only hit my vest," He responded equally as loud. I smiled at him and nodded before we resumed our quest to catch the son of a bitch we were shooting at.

I barely managed to peek over the island when I heard Hotch calling for an emergency ambulance from upstairs. I looked at Morgan. _Someone's hurt._

Suddenly Baldwin revealed himself, dashing in front of the side of the island and pointing his gun straight at Morgan. "Morgan watch out!" I shouted. Morgan ducked out of the way while I pulled my trigger pointing straight at Baldwin. I hit him square in the middle of his neck and I silently pat myself on the back for doing that extra firearms training class a couple weeks ago. Baldwin's blue eyes widened as he dropped his gun to the floor with a clatter, staggering while clutching his neck with both hands. Blood poured out of the bullet wound, painting his hands and the floor underneath him a sickening red. He cried out in pain, but it was choked as blood invaded his esophagus and prevented him from breathing. After a few seconds, he promptly collapsed onto the floor and his movements stopped.

"Nice shot, Collins," Morgan said after the dramatic scene, slightly out of breath.

"Well, Morgan, if you had taken that firearms class like I had offered, maybe you would have been able to take the shot," I replied with a playful grin.

"We can banter as soon as we get back to Quantico, but for now we gotta help the others."

I nodded. "You go with Hotch, Prentiss and Rossi and I'll go with Reid and JJ. Try to call an ambulance if you can, but tell them not to enter the house until Hotch gives the okay."

"Alright, be careful," Morgan turned away and cautiously headed towards the stairs, gun in front of him. I stood up as well, gun held up in a protective position.

 _"Agent Hotchner, we lost Lawson. He seemed to have disappeared in an ally around fourth street."_ I heard faintly on my radio over the commotion and shouting that was going on around the house.

"Dammit!" I swore under my breath. At least it was the teen. We would surely be able to catch him later. I continued toward the living room where I assumed JJ and Reid were, based on the noise levels, and made my way across the kitchen to the wall that separated the two rooms. Silently, I pressed my back against the partially crumbling drywall and peered around the corner. I couldn't see JJ or Reid, but I could see Alexander hiding behind one of the halfway destroyed chairs closest to the back door. I needed a plan of action.

Deep breaths, Collins. You can do this.

I turned the corner, gun aimed forward and ready to shoot.

Big mistake.

I felt a searing pain shoot through my shoulder, causing me to cry out and drop my gun. Instinctively I reached for my shoulder. There was blood coating my shirt, and that's when I realized I had been shot. Adrenaline rushed through my veins as I ducked back behind the wall again. I heard the sound of a door being opened, followed by JJ's, "Oh no you don't!". The sound of hurried shoes echoed across the wooden floorboards along with the sound of gunshots that rang out upstairs. Alexander must have ran out the back door and JJ ran after him. I peeked around the corner again, wincing as pain sliced through my arm, and found I was correct, JJ and Alexander were nowhere to be seen and the back door was wide open.

"Heather?" Reid called cautiously from where I figured was behind the couch. "Spencer!" I shouted back. I crouched down as well as I could without igniting my shoulder again and picked up my gun, which was lying on the floor a few feet from me. Blood was now trickling down my arm, and probably half of my sleeve was covered with the thick red liquid. I noticed that the gunfire that was going on upstairs seemed to cease, which meant that Nichols had either gotten away or had been shot and killed.

I dashed over to the couch to see Reid crouched behind it, gun held beside him. "Heather," He gasped in relief. His eyes trailed from my eyes down to my shoulder. He was about to speak when my radio flicked on.

_"This is Hotch, we've lost Nichols. She seemed to have disappeared in an the same ally on fourth street as Lawson. Have all units sweep fourth street and surrounding streets."_

_"This is JJ, I've lost Alexander. Seemed to have disappeared around the same area too."_

My heart dropped. The woman and teen were gone, and the leader of the gang was gone too. We failed. I placed my gun in my holster along with Reid. With a heavy sigh, I sat down and leaned up against the back of the couch, pulling my legs up to my chest and cradling them closely. "Morgan and I could only take out Baldwin," I muttered, rubbing my temples in frustration. I could feel a headache brewing, probably from all the gunshots. My ears were still ringing.

"Here, let me take a look at your shoulder," Reid scooted in front of me, reaching to examine the wound.

"It's fine, Spencer. I've been shot in worse places. Remember the case with Ronald Delaney in 05?" I winced slightly as his hand gently rested on the side of my arm. Despite my objections, I moved my legs away from my chest so he could get a better look at the wound.

"Yeah," he chuckled, "Shot you in the neck. I remember getting mad at Hotch for not watching you closely and he just said 'Reid she's a grown woman, she doesn't need a babysitter'." I laughed as he badly mimicked Hotch's much deeper voice.

"I mean, that is true. Been alive a solid 29 years," I watched as Reid tore off a small piece of his sleeve. "Hey- wait, Spencer what are you doing?" I asked in confusion.

"Trying to stop your bleeding while the ambulances get here," Reid removed his radio from his belt and brought it up to his lips, saying, "Hotch, call the ambulances in, Heather is shot."

 _"Copy. Reid stay with her,"_ Hotch replied over the radio.

"Yes sir," Reid smiled at me. "Okay, I'm going to see if I can find hydrogen peroxide anywhere in this house. Will you be okay by yourself for a couple of moments?"

"I thought Hotch told you to stay with me," I teased with a glint in my eye.

"Well, you are a grown woman," He retorted with a smile, "I'll be back in a couple minutes," He stood up and pat my good shoulder before leaving the decayed room to search for hydrogen peroxide.

I sighed and looked at my shoulder. The bullet didn't go all the way through, which meant surgery to remove it. I definitely wasn't looking forward to that. I shakily stood up, wincing as I felt pain consume me, and did a 180 of the room as I took in the destruction that had occurred just a few minutes ago. The photos which were above the fireplace were shattered. There were cracks and holes in the furniture and most of the chairs were broken. The house wasn't very nice to begin with, since the gang lived here and enjoyed breaking things.

The gang called themselves the Pretty Boys, which was ironic considering Morgan's nickname for Reid and the leader of the Pretty Boys was female. We were able to link the Pretty Boys to the tortures and murders of over 20 women and children before finding their safe house. Thank goodness we kept extra Kevlar vests in the trunks of all of the FBI cars, just in case we needed them. Originally we were just going to the house to interview who we thought was the mother of one of the victims, but we stumbled upon the entire gang by surprise. Then the shootout began.

I walked around the side of the dusty couch and sat down, closing my eyes for a moment. Today was extremely exhausting and I couldn't wait to get back to Quantico and my apartment. My mother looked after my cat while I was gone, but she hated cats so she would definitely be annoyed with me if I took longer than needed. "Spencer? Did you find the peroxide?" I called, mildly impatient. When I heard no answer, I just wrote it off as him being upstairs and not being able to hear me. There wasn't a bathroom downstairs, so he had to look upstairs.

I decided to follow him to see if he was alright, seeing as he's been gone for around seven minutes already. He knew how important it was to keep a buddy system while in an unfamiliar house, so he would have definitely hurried. I stood up from the couch, steadying my shaky form on the half-broken coffee table. I felt face warming up, a side effect of the headache and being shot. I was definitely developing a fever. "Spence?" I called as I moved around the table to the kitchen. The pain in my shoulder had dulled, but now it was more of a constant pain rather then shots of pain every time I moved my arm.

I entered the kitchen, and that's when I froze.

_Where was Baldwin?_

Adrenaline rushed into my veins as I ignored the pain in my shoulder and grabbed my gun. I quickly moved through the kitchen, checking around every corner to make sure Baldwin wasn't hiding in an attempt to ambush me. I had to be silent if I wanted to catch Baldwin, so I ignored my instincts to scream for Reid. I had to make sure he was okay, but he wouldn't be okay if I was killed before I could catch Baldwin. How was Baldwin even alive? I had shot him in the neck, that should have been enough to kill him.

I moved stealthily across the kitchen to be met by stairs and the dining room, pointing my gun around the room as I searched for any sign of him. But Baldwin didn't seem to be there.

Suddenly I heard a crash and a clatter from upstairs, and just like that, all instincts fell down the drain. "Spencer!" I yelled as I dashed up the stairs where I was met by a hallway. My head whipped around to look for where the crash had originated, but all the doors were closed. "Spencer!" I called again, panic making my heart race.

Suddenly I heard a gunshot ring out from behind me, and instantly I spun around and shot at whoever was unlucky enough to be standing there. Hitting Baldwin straight in the middle of the head, he staggered back against one of the closed doors with a final before dropping to the floor once again. Blood began to pool from his head to the floor, making a small puddle in the now damp carpet. His eyes were lifeless as I checked his pulse, which I couldn't find, to my relief.

"Spence? Baldwin is gone. You can talk now," I called out while slowly opening the door Baldwin was leaning against.

But I had gotten there too late.


	2. Chapter 1 [So Long and Goodnight]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"What's the worst that that I can say?_   
>  _Things are better if I stay_   
>  _So long and goodnight_   
>  _So long and goodnight"_

Like many things in life, processions can be good or bad. Like a parade. That's a good procession. 

But a funeral, that's a bad one.

I had to be pulled out of bed by Garcia the morning of the funeral. Monday the 17th. She had tried her hardest to be as cheerful and sweet as usual, but even she had trouble finding a reason to smile. I had once slept in and Garcia had volunteered to go to my apartment and wake me up. She woke me up by blasting "Mr. Sandman" and almost giving me a heart attack. When I had woken up, she had a doughnut ready and warm for me, as well as my favorite coffee, an iced french vanilla latte.

This morning, however, she had just gently shaken me awake while softly saying I had to get ready for the funeral. When I refused, she pulled the 'he would want you there' card, which was when I caved and got up. Garcia was already in her outfit, a pencil-skirted lacy dress with a black flower hair clip in her hair. Her expression was grim, with a sad, sympathetic smile. 

I wasn't feeling anything. I couldn't think straight. I tried to figure out what to wear, standing in front of my closet, but I could barely focus on what I was looking at. Garcia had said she was going to pick up breakfast for us and when she got back I was wearing a light blue dress with terribly unmatching shoes. She had to gently tell me that I needed to wear the black dress she had gotten me and hung up in my closet, and when I didn't seem to pick up any of what she was saying, she had to help undress me and put the black dress on. She offered to do my hair, and when I didn't respond to her, sat me down and curled my hair for me. She then did my makeup and helped me walk through the door.

So here we were, at the funeral. Most of the FBI was there, and I couldn't help but feel bitter because half of the people attending didn't even know Reid at all. They were just there because they knew he was a part of the FBI. There were maybe 150 people gathered, and I only recognized 30. I couldn't help but notice that Reid's father wasn't there, but his mother was. If my bitterness from before wasn't justifiable, it was now.

I was standing beside Hotch and JJ, who were their own version of emotional wrecks. See, Hotch doesn't show it when he's sad. I only saw him cry once, and that was when Hayley died. He had completely broken. But now, he had a stoic expression, as if he was forcing himself to remain composed. And I didn't blame him. He couldn't cry right now. Not in front of Jack, and most of our unit. JJ was quietly crying as Will wrapped his arm around her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her. Even Will seemed sad, and he didn't know Reid that well. Morgan was in the back of the crowd, keeping his distance so nobody could see the tears slowly running down his cheeks. Prentiss's eyes watered and her cheeks were lightly damp, but every time a tear broke free she would wipe it away with a silk napkin she kept in her pocket, and Garcia was doing her best to quiet the shaky sobs that were coming from her. Rossi was near the back of the crowd, mourning silently.

Almost everyone around me was crying. But me? No. I was just numb. Numb to the idea that Reid was gone. Numb to the idea that I couldn't save him. Numb to the idea that I never got to say goodbye. He was gone, and I never got to say goodbye.

I could see in my peripheral vision that every ten minutes or so Hotch would glance at me, probably to make sure I wouldn't do anything stupid. Garcia had told him how she had to toddler me this morning, help me get dressed, coax me to eat. If I could feel something I would feel annoyed for being basically babysat. But if you pried into my brain right now, you would see nothing but cobwebs and maybe a fly or two.

I didn't pay attention to any of the funeral. I spent the entire thing staring at the white rose in my hands, twirling it around. Each petal was a cloudy white, seemingly perfect. I never understood why society decided to ruin such a beautiful flower by associating it with it as heartbreaking as a funeral. White roses meant purity, life. And yet we were gathering to mourn the dead. 

The noises around me were muffled. I was in my own world. I knew some FBI guy was giving the eulogy right now, but I didn't pay enough attention to know who it was. I could feel the breeze of the early morning wind, which made me shiver slightly even though I was wearing a blazer. My dress was short, black, with no sleeves and some lace around the waist area, and I wore a short, black blazer over the dress. Small pearls adorned my neck, a nice, white centerpiece amongst all the black.

"Collins," I felt Hotch's hand on my left shoulder, opposite to my right which got shot last week. I jumped, and head snapped up and I looked at him, only to notice that people were placing their flowers on the casket. Garcia had volunteered to plan the funeral with the help of Diana Reid, and when the funeral director asked if they wanted an open or closed casket funeral, Garcia basically verbally abused the poor man. She talked about how terrible open casket funerals were, and then asked if he had "any more stupid questions he wanted to ask". Which is just an unfortunate reminder that death can make even the happiest people change. Luckily Diana was there to calm Garcia down, and she had then apologized profusely for her uncharacteristic actions.

I watched as JJ wiped her rosy cheeks and stepped forward to place her rose on the casket. Will held Henry and Michael as she paused in front of of the wooden box, eyebrows furrowed in grief. She was hesitant, as if placing the rose on the casket would make things a reality. But even if she didn't put the rose down, it would still be as real as before. Will smiled sadly at JJ, softly grabbing her hand with the rose and bringing it to the top of the casket. She let out a choked sob as she let the rose go and Will quietly told Henry and Michael to put the roses in their hands onto the casket. They returned to their spot, and that meant it was my turn. I looked down at the rose I had been previously fidgeting with in my hands. I tried to move, but I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to approach the casket. The thought that Reid was in that casket made me want to cry out to whatever god would listen, and tell him that he was a selfish bastard for taking the kindest, most empathetic person I knew. I knew people's eyes were on me. They were waiting.

"Do you want me to go up there with you?" Hotch asked in a hushed tone, looking at me in barely visible concern.

I wasn't able to find the emotional strength to speak an answer, so I just nodded silently. He placed his hand on my upper back, gently guiding me to the coffin. But I couldn't go up there, I just couldn't. Not with Reid in there. He belonged somewhere else, not in a cold wooden box six feet under. I hesitated with a short whimper, ceasing movement around three feet from the coffin. I felt Hotch stop beside me and look from me to Jack, who was standing beside him. With a heavy sigh, he quietly told Jack to go ahead. Once Jack left Hotch's side he guided me back into the crowd. "We'll go last."

I nodded gratefully. I had time to prepare myself before having to face my worst fear. Which was, of course, having to face the idea that Reid is really...

I couldn't even think it.

A singular, desperate tear managed to break from the corner of my eye, sliding down my cheek, and silently landing onto the flannel blazer I was wearing. I was lost in my thoughts, chained to my mind that was an inescapable prison. Once the first tear slipped, more began to fall. One by one, tears coated my cheeks, and I didn't even have the strength to wipe them away. I was quivering slightly as I sobbed. Well, at least I didn't look like an emotionless robot anymore. I could feel Prentiss looking at me, but I didn't bother to return the stare. Quiet crying could be heard all around me as people continued putting roses on the coffin, and yet I felt as though my sobs were the loudest. I couldn't handle this anymore. 

Without looking at him, I handed Hotch my rose. I muttered a quiet 'I'm sorry' before turning around and rushing to get as far away from the crowd as possible. Hotch didn't protest, he just let me slip away. I rushed past Morgan, who had stopped crying but his cheeks were damp. He didn't bother to stop me either. I couldn't face him right now, and I didn't know if I'd ever be able to. The grass crunched underneath my shoes as I hurriedly rushed away, and I called an Uber once I got to the white arches of the entrance. 

As I waited, I softly cried. Garcia didn't put much makeup on me, to my luck. Either that or it's waterproof makeup. I couldn't know for sure, I barely remembered anything that happened this morning. It was as if I woke up, and then I was here. Every now and then I would glance back at the group to make sure someone wasn't approaching.

Ten minutes later, a small black car pulled up with an Uber sticker in the window. The woman inside rolled down the window and looked from me to the crowd a few meters away sympathetically. She had a round face, with dark skin and dark brown eyes. Her curly black hair was pulled back into a tight bun. "Come on honey, get in. It's on the house today."

"Thank you," I replied softly, with a short nod. My voice sounded weaker than I had expected, almost at a whisper.

I wrapped my hand around the handle of the door and got in, buckling up before breathing a breath that I didn't know I was holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters will eventually get longer I promise


	3. Chapter 2 [If You Figure It Out, Tell Me]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You know it takes a lot to move me_   
>  _So if you figure it out tell me."_

**Monday, one week since the funeral**

_JJ's POV_

The BAU headquarters was quieter than usual, but at the same time just as loud. Strauss had told Hotch that he needed to find a replacement for Spence immediately, so there were agents lined up in the hallway waiting to be interviewed. There were mostly young men, all speaking to each other in hushed excitement. An excitement that I had lost over my years as an agent.

My head was resting in the palms of my hands, leaning against my desk in the busy bullpen. It was early, so really the only people who were here were Hotch, Rossi, and the new agents. The atmosphere was bustling and busy as other workers who were already here worked. I was surprised Collins wasn't in yet. She was what you could call a "workaholic". That was why her and Hotch got along so well. She was always willing to do extra work, was always in the office at exactly 7 am each day, was always looking for more work to do. Suddenly, I heard a ding on my phone. With a glance, a text popped up on my screen.

_Erin Strauss: Tell Emily to see me as soon as she gets to the office. She isn't responding to my text._

No wonder she's not picking up her phone, its Strauss.

_Me: Okay, I'll let her know ASAP_

I shut off my phone with a quiet click and glanced at the small clock that stood on my desk. The time ticked from 7:11 to 7:12. Letting out a tired groan, I caved and left my desk to grab coffee from the kitchen. Rossi had brought in doughnuts today, so maybe that would cheer up the damp mood. My heels clicked repeatedly against the dark wood as I passed a few new agents chatting enthusiastically. I had no idea who let them into the bullpen, but I was too tired to tell them to leave. Besides, one of them will be working with me, so I had to give a good impression. And Hotch wouldn't be happy with me if I snapped at the new agents because of what had happened with Reid.

I entered the kitchen to find Rossi leaning against the counter, seeming to be lost in thought. He was slowly spinning a coffee mixer around the edges of his cup, which was filled with steaming coffee. It looked to be too hot to drink, freshly poured only moments before I had entered the room. I tried not to startle him as I opened a cabinet and reached for my coffee mug, which was kept beside the rest of the teams mugs. If we all kept our own mugs here, it prevented unnecessary waste. At least, that's what Spence had said when he requested we bring a mug of our choice to the office to keep here.

I sighed as I stood on my toes to reach the mug which Morgan probably 'accidentally' placed on the highest shelf. My fingertips managed to wrap around the handle of the mug, but I must have not held it tightly enough. The mug toppled over, out of my hand, and onto the floor where it broke into a million pieces. A crash sound resounded loudly throughout t he room and Rossi jumped from where he was leaning against the counter beside me. The other agents in the bullpen were looking toward the kitchen curiously.

"Oh god... oh I'm sorry," I said, and for some reason tears began to form in the corners of my eyes. Normally I wouldn't cry about something as small as breaking a glass, but here I was, tearing up about just that. Rossi looked at me sympathetically, placing his still intact mug on the counter before pulling me into a gentle hug. Tears began to stream more rapidly down my cheeks. I hugged him back, arms wrapping around his shoulders and burying my head in his blazer. His soft hands ran up and down my back comfortingly. Rossi was great like that. He gave hugs that nobody could beat.

Nobody except..

I pulled away, chuckling sadly and wiping my eyes. "Sorry about that," I said as I regained my composure. I smoothed out my button-up shirt and sniffled a bit, taking a deep breath in before looking back at Rossi.

"It's okay, we're all in a kind of funk today," Rossi kindly responded with a sympathetic smile as he grabbed a mug from the cabinet. I sat in the closest chair by the table in the kitchen.

"Collins is late. And she's never late. I've known her for eight years and she hasn't been late to work once," I mumbled while Rossi poured coffee in the new cup. He stepped around the broken glass carefully, placing the new coffee on the table beside me.

"Reid was Heather's best friend for a while. I don't really blame her," Rossi spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. He seemingly didn't want others to pick up on the conversation.

I took the coffee gratefully. I knew from experience that if Rossi does something kind for you, you don't protest. I sipped at the warm drink and I almost instantly felt more relaxed as soon as it got into my system. "Oh, do know where a broom is?" I needed to clean up the glass I broke.

"Oh it's okay, I'll sweep it up," He downed the rest of the coffee in his cup and went to grab the broom.

"And before you protest," he cut me off as I was about to do just that, "I don't want you cutting your hand on glass."

I sighed and sat back in my chair with another sip of the coffee while Rossi left to retrieve a broom. I normally wasn't a fan of black coffee, but I didn't feel like altering it. That would mean I'd have to walk all the way to the fridge right by me to get the cream.

"What happened in here?" I heard the familiar voice of Hotch behind me. I figured he was talking about the glass on the floor. I glanced back at him as he entered the room.

"Dropped my mug. How are you feeling this morning?" I asked, turning in my seat to watch as he walked by to get coffee.

"We're all feeling off. Strauss wants a new agent in before briefing today," He muttered as he poured himself a drink. His normally perfect-looking suit was slightly wrinkled today. I was surprised he didn't notice. Hotch normally internalized things, though. He didn't let his emotions slip. Maybe he was so busy internalizing his feelings that he forgot to pick out an unwrinkled suit.

"You have any idea who you're going to choose?" I asked, crossing my legs and taking a swig of my coffee.

"Nope," he responded with a sigh, pouring a little cream into the coffee he was preparing. "They're expecting somebody as good as Reid."

"Nobody's as good as him," I murmured sadly as I stared into my cup. The dark brown coffee moved around lightly in the warm mug, making small figures with the bubbles that were there from when Rossi poured it.

"I'm surprised Collins isn't in yet. But then again, considering the circumstances, I'm not surprised at the same time. Should we send somebody to her apartment to check in on her?" He asked as he stepped around the glass on the floor to sit across from me. He stirred his coffee in and took a sip and I spun around in my chair, now facing Hotch and the busy bullpen.

"No, that's okay," Rossi's voice reappeared as he rentered the kitchen, now with a short broom with a crimson handle and a matching dustpan. "I'm sure she'll be in soon. Remember when Emily faked her death?"

"She was in early," Hotch supplied as Rossi swept up the broken glass. "Isn't Edith supposed to clean that up?"

Edith was the janitor. "I think she's on maternity leave," I responded. "And besides, she gets paid for the time she's here, not the work she does. Might as well take a little work off her hands. Poor woman's getting old."

Hotch mouthed 'ah' with a nod and sipped his coffee. I went to sip mine but realized it was empty. I pouted and put the cup back on the table. "I'm out of coffee," I complained. Rossi chuckled. "You have an addiction," He emptied the dust pan into the trash can and I winced slightly as the glass clattered against each other.

"I have an addiction?" I stood up and brought the cup to the sink to wash it. "If anything the one with the addiction here is S-" I caught myself. I looked at Hotch and Rossi, who stayed silent. Rossi smiled at me sadly.

Hotch sighed and put his cup down. "We shouldn't avoid saying his name," He said, "It's okay if we talk about him. Besides, Strauss wants me to do a psychological exam on the team today anyway."

"Oh, I remember those too well. Didn't you guys do one of those when I faked my death?" Prentiss walked into the kitchen, and I watched to see if Collins was behind her, but she wasn't. I took note of this and placed the clean mug on a rag beside the sink.

"Yeah. I was still at the Pentagon at that time, but Morgan said he didn't have a very fun time," I responded.

Hotch looked at his watch and sighed. "I have to go interview more agents now."

"Oh its okay Hotch, go ahead," Prentiss said with a small smile.

"I keep telling all these young, eager agents what a great job this is, but it takes so much out of you," He muttered, half to himself as he stood up and pushed in his chair. "Excuse me," He grabbed his coffee and left to interview some more agents.

I closed my eyes tiredly. Spence once told me that coffee's effects are noticeable after 30 to 60 minutes. So I had around twenty minutes before I hopefully wasn't tired anymore. I don't know if I'd be able to handle that.

"Hey guys, where's Collins?" Morgan entered the kitchen, already holding a coffee and a brown paper bag containing what might be his breakfast.

"She's not here yet," Rossi replied. "Hotch wants me to help interview agents. He's only interviewed four out of the ten and we need a new agent hired by breifing today," He leaned the broom he had been holding against the wall.

"Go ahead, have fun," Prentiss sat down next to me with her coffee.

Rossi left the room and Morgan sat across from me, taking a swig of his coffee in front of him. "What's in the bag?" I asked curiously.

"A hamster," He replied smoothly. Prentiss chuckled and looked at Morgan disbelievingly.

"No seriously! Garcia has always wanted a little hamster figurine that looked like the hamster she had growing up but could never find one. I have a buddy who makes custom figurines though, so I got it from him. I figured Garcia would like it."

"Aww, that's so sweet Morgan! Can we see it?" I leaned over in an attempt to get a peek at the figurine, reaching for the bag.

"Nope! This is for Garcia's eyes and Garcia's eyes only." Morgan snatched the bag away from me and I pouted with a huff. He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

"Oh don't pout at me, I got you a toaster when you married Will," Morgan wrapped up the bag and put it in his pocket.

"What you 'got her' is a broken mug," Prentiss chuckled with a swig of her coffee. Morgan narrowed his eyes in thought and then burst out laughing. "You broke it?"

I glared at him and sat back in my seat with my arms crossed. "Yeah, and it gave me a heart attack asshole."

Morgan held his hands up defensively. "Hey, it was Collins' idea. She was just too short to reach the top shelf. Speaking of Collins, where is she?"

Prentiss looked at me and then lowered her voice. "She isn't taking Reid well. I heard she spent all of last night at his gravestone."

Morgan's expression softened. "Should we send somebody to go get her?" He asked quietly.

"If she's not here by breifing I think we should send Rossi. Nobody can say no to Rossi," I suggested.

"That sounds like a good idea. Do you want to let Rossi know?" Prentiss asked.

I nodded and stood up. "I'll go tell him right now. Oh and Prentiss, Strauss texted me earlier and told me to tell you to see her as soon as you got in," I remembered the text that she had sent me a few minutes after getting to the office.

Morgan glanced at Prentiss. "Am I in trouble?" Prentiss asked nervously, with the same tone as a child whose parent had just pulled them aside to speak to them about "something important".

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. She just said you weren't responding to her text and you needed to go see her."

Prentiss clapped her hand over her mouth. "I forgot to respond to her text!" She quickly shot up and grabbed her drink, running out of the kitchen.

Morgan watched with an amused expression as he sipped his coffee. " _Ooooohhhh_ , somebody's in _troubleee_."

I rolled my eyes as I pushed my chair in. "Grow up, Morgan."

I could hear him chuckling as I left the kitchen to go to Rossi's office. As I made my way through the walkway I instinctively glanced toward Spence's desk for him. But it was empty, completely cleaned off. I sighed sadly and shook my head. I had to stop doing things that reminded me of him. But then again, losing a good friend will always come with reminders that they're gone. I suppose I just had to learn to deal with them.

I reached Rossi's door and peeked through the window. Currently, he was with Hotch and another man who I recognized as one of the agents being interviewed. I knew I should probably wait until they were done, but I wasn't sure when they would be done so I gave a polite knock on Rossi's door.

"Come in," I entered his office and I instantly knew that the agent they were interviewing would be Spence's replacement. Both Hotch and Rossi wouldn't be interviewing the same agent if they didn't think he was good enough. I narrowed my eyes slightly as I inspected the agent. He seemed to shrink under my gaze, and while he would meet my eyes for a few seconds he kept his eyes away from mine for the most part. Rossi and Hotch definitely have an interesting taste in agents if they think this guy's cut out for it.

This agent was tall and fit, with caucasian skin and curly black hair. His eyes were a dark brown colour, and he wore a tight button-up shirt and fancy slacks. "Oh, JJ, perfect timing. This is Agent Joshua Davis, your new team member. Davis, this is Jennifer Jareau, our communications liaison." Hotch introduced.

I confidently walked up to Davis, and I could feel the nerves radiating off of him. I outstretched my hand and he took it gingerly. "Nice to meet you, Davis," Right off the bat I wanted to be on a strictly last name basis.

As if Davis had realized he wasn't making a good impression, he stood up taller and leaned his shoulders back, clearly faking his confidence. "Nice to meet you too, what would you prefer for me to call you?" He asked politely.

I was considering just telling him to call me 'Jareau', but Hotch wouldn't be very happy if I instantly closed my doors to Davis right off the bat, without at least trying to get to know him first. I looked at Hotch, and I could see from his hard stare that if I closed up we would be having a long conversation later, and most likely a scolding. I sighed and gave in. "You can call me JJ," I could see Hotch nodding approvingly in my peripheral vision and I just shook my head at him in annoyance. Davis looked from me to Hotch, trying and failing to understand the meaning between our silent looks. But that's just how we worked. The team relied on a lot of silence to be able to keep up with each other. If you were new, tough luck.

"Oh, I almost forgot, Rossi," I turned to look at him. "I just wanted to let you know that if Collins isn't in by briefing then we decided you should go find her."

"Who decided this?" Rossi asked while standing from his chair.

"Prentiss, Morgan and I."

"Alright, how long until briefing?" Rossi looked at the clock in the center of the wall in his office.

"Around ten minutes. It's 7:50," I glanced at the watch on my wrist and smiled slightly at the memory. We had had a case in San Francisco, and Spence knew I had always wanted to go there, so he asked the team to stay an extra day so he and I could explore the city. I saw the watch in a window and simply said, "Oh, that's a pretty watch," and as soon as I said it he insisted on buying it for me. He had forced me to stay outside the store so I wouldn't know how much it costed, and so I wouldn't be able to repay him.

"JJ?" Rossi broke me out of my thoughts as he placed a hand on my shoulder. I jumped slightly, startled. "Oh, sorry, didn't mean to scare you," I quickly looked around for Davis, but he wasn't in the room anymore. "Listen, JJ, I know you're unhappy. We all are. But don't take that out on Davis. He's a nice guy," Hotch said.

"I didn't know we picked agents who had a clear fear of women," I scoffed uncharacteristically, crossing my arms and staring down Hotch in frustration. "It seems like you didn't even try to interview this guy. You just wanted a new agent in as soon as possible."

"You weren't the one who interviewed him. Before making assumptions about a person you've never even met, try and be a little more open to change," Hotch's voice was cold, but collected. It infuriated me how he could always remain calm. When I was truly angry, my face would turn red, I'd clench my fists and it normally didn't end pretty.

"Open to change? You're the one who doesn't even seem to care that Spencer died! It's as if you-" I was quickly cut off my angry rant by Rossi.

"Okay, nope, we're not doing that. We're not going there," Rossi stepped in between us, holding us apart as well as he could. "We're not letting Reid's death turn us on each other. Listen to yourselves! You two sound like children bickering about who gets the last cookie."

I stared at Hotch bitterly but didn't say anything. He crossed his arms and stared at me with such a cold glare I felt almost intimidated. Almost.

"JJ, I will go get Collins, thank you for telling me. Hotch, briefing is in a couple minutes so I suggest you two pull yourselves together," Rossi sighed tiredly, "Now JJ, I believe you have case files to go grab. So go," He pointed to the door and I scoffed and shook my head in disbelief as I stormed out of the office.

"Hey JJ, what happened in th-" I ignored Morgan as I stormed passed him. He had a look of confusion on his face which I didn't bother to look at. I knew I was acting childish. But I couldn't help but be angry at Hotch. I knew everyone dealt with grief differently. I just wish Hotch didn't look all cold and emotionless all the time. Now that I think about it, I've never even seen Hotch cry. He didn't even cry at Hayley's funeral. Or Spencer's.

I sat in my seat at my desk with a huff and laid my head in my palms. Today was going to be a long, tiring day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooo character arguments


	4. Chapter 3 [Would It Be So Bad If I Stayed]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hey, would it be so bad if I stayed_   
>  _I'm just a ghost out of his grave_

**Monday, one week after funeral**

_Collins' POV_

Silence consumed me. It was as if some sort of black mist settled on my chest and leaked into my skin, taking control. Or a puppeteer had tied strings to my limbs and was controlling my every move. But right now, the puppeteer had set the controls down and was just watching me, watching me lie here in my pain.

The tree branches above me swayed softly, and the only noises I could hear was the wind, and people talking from across the cemetery.

It was actually quite peaceful, the silence. The silence and the comfort of knowing my best friend was right next to me. The grass underneath me was soft, but pointy at the same time. Enough so that it was uncomfortable to lie in it, but not enough to make me get up. No, I wouldn't get up.

I heard footsteps approaching me, but I didn't bother to look at who it was. The quiet but confident footstep pattern already told me who it was.

Rossi stood next to me, looking down at my pitiful self with a raised eyebrow. He stood there for a moment, thinking, before bending over and lying next to me on the grass. Rossi wore a nice black suit which would soon be all grassy. He didn't look at me, he just stared at the sky, quietly.

I would never say it out loud, but I was glad he was here. I knew he was here to bring me to work, but it was nice to have company. I knew that either JJ or Hotch sent Rossi. They knew Rossi's effect on me. He's like the dad I never had. I was here all of last night, and the silence that consumed me was deadly. It left me to my thoughts. And nothing is as scary as one's own thoughts.

We lied there, silently, for a while. I wasn't sure how long. I'm sure Reid could tell me. He was always attentive like that. He could tell me exactly how many inches Antarctica was if I asked. I could almost hear his dorky, sweet voice spewing out some huge number in response.

But all I got was silence.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Rossi was the first to break the silence. He was here on a mission, to get me to work. But he wouldn't admit that unless I asked him, and I wouldn't ask him.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I was afraid that if I tried to speak, my vocal chords would fail me, just like my limbs failed me. I had been lying in the same spot for so long, I felt as if I couldn't move my body. If I tried hard enough, I could. But it felt so much better to stay still.

"JJ and Hotch had a fight this morning," He said quietly.

I sighed. Why would they fight? That's the last thing the team needs. Their team needs for them to be getting along. Prentiss, Morgan, Garcia, they all look up to Hotch and JJ. Reid wouldn't want them arguing.

Reid wouldn't want them arguing.

Now I was using Reid to make points. I had to stop doing that. Besides, I couldn't speak for him, I'm not him. But I was curious as to why JJ and Hotch, the most levelheaded people on the team, were arguing. So I took the bait. "What were they arguing about?"

My voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Rossi looked at me, studying my facial expression, and returned his gaze to the sky. "Well, Strauss was saying Hotch needed to find a replacement for Reid by the time briefing rolled around. JJ didn't approve of who we picked."

"Who did you pick? Why didn't she like him?" It takes a lot to make JJ not like you. Well, actually, commit a crime and she won't like you. But an FBI agent? It takes a lot for JJ to not like you. JJ was the first person in the BAU who became my friend, one of the kindest people I knew.

"Joshua Davis, originally from Jethro Gibbs's unit. He seems to be uncomfortable around women, but he's smart. He could probably draw up a map in his sleep. That's why we let him join the team," Rossi explained, "JJ doesn't like how we're 'replacing' Reid so soon. She really misses him." He put air quotes around 'replacing'. And he's right. They weren't replacing Reid. Nobody could ever replace Reid.

I missed Reid. So much.

I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes involuntarily. I had cried enough in the last few days, and yet they just kept on coming. I could feel Rossi's eyes on me, worried.

A small, stray tear ran down my cheek, but I quickly wiped it away because I was sick of crying so much. I was sick of feeling weak, feeling like this. The sudden movement of my hand made my hand feel like static, as it had been lying in the grass all night and all morning, unmoving.

"It's okay to cry, Heather," Rossi's quiet voice spoke from beside me. My lip quivered as my eyes watered, but I wiped my eyes and shook my head vigorously. I wasn't going to cry. I refused to. Rossi sighed and scooted closer to me, sitting up and staring down at me. "Heather, talk to me."

My breathing slowly got more ragged, and every emotion in my body screamed to let go, but I couldn't do it. I needed to be stronger then this. I needed to know I could get over this and get out on the other side okay.

But for now... maybe it was okay to cry.

I couldn't hold on any longer, and the dam behind my eyes broke as tears began to pour. The clear, glistening tears sped down my cheeks as I quietly sobbed. My body shook softly and Rossi sighed. "Come here," He spoke the quiet invitation.

I slowly sat up and scooted closer to Rossi, and he wrapped his arms around me comfortingly. He softly stroked my arm while I covered my face in my hands. I could hear the sounds of children playing at the park next to the graveyard, not a care in the world. A part of me was angry that I had to lost Reid while the children got to play, so happily. But who would I be to wish death upon a child's family? It would make me as bad as the criminals I hunted.

I looked up to the sky angrily. Gideon used to always talk to me about how he believed there was a God up there. But where was he now? Was he enjoying the show he put on? If he could control and predict everything, then why would he make such a terrible tragedy happen to me? I had always struggled with religion, the idea that a God existed out there. Sometimes I wonder if God wants me to not believe, which is why he takes people from me left and right. I should be good with the idea of death by now. I see people die all the time. I specialize in serial crimes, for god's sake.

But I'm not.

I don't think I'd ever be able to.

I remembered sadly about the first time I had killed an unsub. Before then, I didn't really understand the concept of death. The idea that you could remove somebody from this Earth that quickly. That easily. I remember after I had gotten the victim away, I sat down right next to the unsub and just stared at him. His name was Edmund Dennis. He had been mentally abused all his life by his mother, and he had been killing older women that were surrogates for his mother, who he was trying to gain the courage to kill. We had found him when he was trying to kill his last victim before killing his mother.

I just stared at him. Stared at the bullet wound on his forehead, the look of panic written on his face which took its place as soon as I had shot him. The blood puddle forming around his head. A part of me wanted his chest to begin to rise and fall again, so that I could live with the idea that I had never taken a life. But it was still, like his heart. Everything about him was still.

That was when the concept of death began to become more clear to me. I had always ignored the fact that the bodies we worked with all the time had lives before. They had family, friends. I did it as a coping mechanism for the tough line of work I put myself in. But ever since I shot Dennis, every time I shot another person I had been harder and harder on myself. Reid was the one who originally brought up how I was feeling to Hotch, even though I asked him not to tell anyone about it. I was angry at first. Hell, I was really angry. Hotch had forced me to take a three month break. But after three months of forced therapy from Reid, I had come back better then ever. And that was when I realized I loved him.

He was willing to risk our friendship, everything we had, so I could get better. And that was why I loved him. He knew I would be mad at him, and yet he told Hotch anyway. As soon as I got back to work, I had pulled Reid away and told him. Because he deserved to hear it the most. This was around a year after I had joined the BAU. I never thought I would not only gain the best friends I had ever had by joining, but I'd also gain a family.

Originally, Reid was taken aback when I suddenly blurted out to him, in the middle of the BAU's kitchen, that I loved him. I could still remember the slight head tilt and the look of confusion on his face when he asked, "Like, romantically?"

And I could still remember the look of relief on his face when I laughed and replied, in embarrassment, "No! No! I mean, yes you're super attractive, but you're also the best brother I've ever had. I mean't I love you as a big brother."

Then he began to spew out facts on how romance in the work place is never a good idea and how most of the time it ends really badly, and how it affects both people's performance quite badly after an argument. Morgan had walked in while he was talking and he just looked from me to Reid, who didn't notice him walk in, and just shook his head and laughed before turning straight around.

I had stopped crying now, and I smiled softly at the memory.

"What are you smiling about?" Rossi asked, returning the smile as he looked at me.

I sat up taller and he dropped his arms which were wrapped tightly around my shoulders. "I was remembering the time I had told Spence that I loved him for the first time. He got worried because he thought I meant it romantically. I mean, I will admit, I had a small crush on him when I first joined, but it never turned into anything," I explained.

Rossi chuckled, "I remember that. Morgan, JJ and I had a bet on you two, you know."

I turned to face Rossi, hand on my chest in fake offence. " _Rossi_ , you bet on Reid and I?" I gasped dramatically.

He held his hands up defensively. "Hey, I was the one who bet you and Reid were just good friends! JJ had bed 20$ that you two would get together eventually and Morgan bet 25$ that you two were already together. I'm not sure if it would be appropriate to request my 45$ now or later."

I let out a small laugh at the dark joke, and then remembered the reason Rossi was here. I wanted to see if he would straight up tell me he was bringing me to work or give me some excuse like, 'I wanted to keep you company'. "So tell me why you're _really_ here," I said.

Rossi shook his head with a chuckle, "Can't hide anything from profilers these days, can I? Such a shame. But JJ sent me to pick you up and bring you to work."

Of course Rossi would tell the truth. Like he said, can't hide anything from profilers these days. I felt dread in the pit of my stomach at the idea of going back to work. Back to the place I had spent so many days with Reid, so many years. So many memories. It was like that time as a baby when I played with a jack-in-the-box toy and after it popped up it startled me so badly that I didn't play with it ever again. I was so afraid of it. Thinking back on it now, it was kind of funny, but it was terrifying back then.

"I don't know if I can go back to work so soon," I muttered, leaning my head against Rossi's shoulder.

"That's alright, but I'm not going to let you sit out here any longer. You need to shower and sleep on a real bed," He replied, a gentle sternness laced in his words.

"Yes dad," I replied jokingly, "Can you help me up?"

Rossi stood up and smiled down at me, " _Dì per favore, mia cara._ " He spoke in his Italian accent. I chuckled and shook my head. Rossi had always tried to teach me Italian, but I had never really picked up on it. Whenever he spoke to me in Italian to test what I've learned, I just used Reid as a cheat sheet. But I knew what he was saying, thank god.

" _Per favore_?" I asked in a purposefully bad Italian accent.

" _Sì! Ottimo lavoro figlia mia!_ " Rossi outstretched his hand and I took it gratefully while he used his body weight to pull me to my feet. At first I stumbled, my legs haven't been used in hours, but Rossi caught me and shook his head with a tut. "You need to do some exercise when you get home. Lying down all day does real damage to your body."

"I know, I know," I rolled my eyes as I regained balance. "Are we taking your car or mine?"

"You really think I'm going to let you drive? I'll have an agent pick up your car later. We'll take my car," Rossi put his arm around my shoulders as we moved through the graveyard, and I couldn't help but notice how many tombstones were there.

"It's crazy how many people die each day. And yet, we only know one tombstone within this park. Well, two including Haley," I said thoughtfully. Us agents had our own section of the cemetery used for fallen agents or family or agents.

"Actually, my ex sister-in-law was buried here after she died of cancer," Rossi corrected. He pointed to a tombstone ahead. "That's her. The sister of my second ex wife."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, almost out of habit.

"Why are you sorry? You didn't kill her," He replied with a smile as we walked through the arches which marked the cemetery's beginning. 

I chuckled. It's funny how humans say sorry for almost anything, even if it wasn't their fault. I suppose it was just a natural response to when something sad comes up. I wondered if people back in the 1800's would do the same thing. Like, one of the maidens would say "mine own moth'r hast died," and the other men would say, "I sincerely apologize."

We walked through the parking lot and I almost instantly spotted the small, black FBI car Rossi had taken to pick me up. "That one right there is my car, so let whoever is picking it up know its that one," I pointed to the black Toyota Corolla from across the parking lot. It had a small FBI sticker on the back, which all agents were supposed to put on their personal cars to show that they were off duty agents. 

"Are there any specific agents you'd like me to send?" Rossi asked as we got into the company car.

"Um," I paused for a moment to think. I didn't know the named of many of the other agents that worked at Quantico, except for my team members. However, I had worked with a young agent once who still worked there with a desk job. "Can you send Andy Carlson? I worked with him on a case once after I had broken my leg and couldn't travel."

"Sure. His desk is by JJ's, right?"

"Yeah," I buckled in and closed the door. "In between JJ and Morgan." 

Rossi nodded and started the car. "I'll let him know. You still live in the same apartment, right?" 

I chuckled, "I'm pretty sure I'd let you guys know if I moved. Its the same place, 3900 Soundview Circle." 

"Alright, alright, I was just making sure." Rossi turned the car on and turned around in his seat to look out the back window, hand resting on the shoulder of mine while he backed up. I smiled softly at the small action. My biological father used to do that whenever he backed up. I think its something all adult men do out of habit.

Rossi turned back around and continued driving. I would admit, I was nervous, being in the car. I wasn't sure why, but Rossi seemed to pick up on it. "You alright?" He asked, not taking his eyes off the road.

I sighed and sat back in my seat, folding my arms over my chest for comfort. "Yeah, I'm just tired," Which wasn't a lie. I was extremely tired. Sleeping on grass all night doesn't give you a good night's sleep. But there was something more to it. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on. "Are you guys going to continue looking for Nichols, Alexander, and Lawson?" I asked.

"I hope so. But with the cases piling up, Strauss is making us table the investigation for now." 

I sat up with a sudden burst of anger, looking at Rossi in shock. "What? But they _killed_ Reid! How could she make us table the investigation when one of our own team members died by their hand?" 

"Heather, we'll come back to the case as soon as we have time, but we have people in immediate danger who need our help more. You have to put your desire for justice aside and focus on the people who are currently being hurt, kidnapped," Rossi said, his voice remaining calm and even. His gaze didn't even move from the road to me once. 

And that angered me even more.

How could he stay so calm and collected? This wasn't fair at all. It was like he wasn't even affected by Reid's death. "This isn't fair," I stated, my voice shaking lightly. I knew my face was red from anger, and I could feel tears forming in my eyes. I felt immature. I hated how whenever I was angry, my body's natural response was to cry. 

Rossi finally broke his eyes from the road to look at me. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at me sympathetically. "We all want to find the rest of the gang as much as you do. And we will. I promise. But right now we need to focus on the cases that need us _now_." 

I knew he was right, but I wished so desperately that he was wrong. I looked down at the floor of the car.

"I hope we'll find them soon."


	5. Chapter 4 [Call Me On The Phone At Three]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Call me on the phone at three_   
>  _I talk to you while half asleep_   
>  _Complaining 'bout your mother_   
>  _So I take you to the cemetery_

**Tuesday, two weeks after funeral**

_Morgan's POV_

I sat at my usual seat at the round table, accompanied by Rossi, Hotch, JJ, Davis, and Garcia. We all took our usual spots, but one chair was empty, and that was the one next to mine.

I looked at the empty chair with an unemotional gaze. Heather hadn't left her apartment ever since Rossi went to pick her up and bring her to work. After a few days of trying to get Heather out of her apartment, the entire team sort of broke apart. JJ and Hotch had another argument about Davis, I got mad at Rossi because I thought he had said something to Heather that made her sad enough to isolate herself, and JJ actually told Davis she didn't want to be his friend, they were to stay as coworkers and coworkers only. That was what prompted Hotch and JJ's fight.

Personally, I think Davis isn't that bad. He and I managed to talk on his first day, and he overall seems very nice. I explained to him not to take anything JJ says to heart, because she's grieving and she doesn't like that it feels like he's replacing Reid. Davis was super relaxed about it and told me he understood, and he wasn't trying to replace Reid at all. Davis had said he had actually attended one of Reid's lectures once and got to meet him. He said he only had high praise for Reid and his work.

The room was tense, and we could all feel it. If Heather were here, she'd probably tell us we were being stupid and we shouldn't argue. And she'd probably tell Hotch to stop being stuck up and JJ to be nicer to Davis. I smiled softly. Heather never really recognized authority figures, which got her close to being fired multiple times. Not from Hotch, but from Strauss. Hotch told me about a time when Strauss threatened to fire Hotch if he didn't fire Heather. Because as much as she wanted to fire Heather, she didn't report directly to her, so she couldn't.

But Hotch stood his ground. I don't know what he said to her, but she never complained about Heather again. I asked him what he said to her and he just responded with, "I told her she was irreplaceable", but I knew there was more to it. I asked Rossi what he really told her, and Rossi just chuckled and said, "just be happy Heather's here".

Heather did, however, have a stern talking to about her problems with authority, and after a short, quiet argument, she began to respect Strauss a little more. But only Strauss. She respects Hotch without having to be told to.

"Okay, this case is in one of our very own's backyard, Chicago!" Garcia announced cheerfully. Although she could sense the tension, she would try to be as cheerful as possibly to hopefully lift the mood. Which, by the way, was very hard to do while talking about murder.

"Four bodies of women, all 26, were just found in dumpsters around two miles apart from each other," Garcia explained. She clicked a few buttons on the remote and photos of the bodies showed up on the screen. Each one had a rectangular cut in the shirt right where there breasts were, exposing them to whoever was passing by. What I found interesting was that they only cut the breast part of the clothing, not anything else. Garcia stopped talking, a silent prompt for us to begin to discuss theories, but we all stayed silent. Garcia looked at all of us like an annoyed mother, a look I know very well. "Guys, come on!" She said, exasperated.

I looked around at the table. Even Davis seemed to pick up on the tension. "Listen, I know we're all unhappy and I really hate talking about stuff like this, but we need to stop arguing and act like we actually like each other! Because we do, we're family. Now stop pouting and smile at each other, or at the very least, be professional," Garcia said with a light sternness. I raised my eyebrows at her assertiveness. I looked around the room, and everyone looked, for the most part, surprised. Even Hotch's head was tilted slightly out of curiosity from her outburst.

Garcia seemed to shrink under the gazes of her teammates and sat down calmly in front of her laptop. "Now," she paused, looking at each of us, "do your crime discuss-y thing."

"Okay, well our unsub doesn't like women, that's for sure," Davis was the first to break the silence. Davis had only worked one case with us, and he was constantly trying to do what he was supposed to, break no rules. I had to assure him multiple times that he was fine, and he wasn't breaking any rules, but entering a team as broken up as we were was definitely anxiety-inducing.

"All of these women have similar looks. Brown curly hair and dark brown eyes. Which means he's probably using these women as surrogates for somebody else," JJ said, looking at Hotch, who nodded approvingly. She smiled for the first time in probably days. 

"Good! That's good. See? We like each other!" Garcia said cheerfully.

"Do we know the names of the victims?" I asked.

"My dear chocolate thunder, when you're working with me you'll always know exactly what you wanna know," Garcia purred while typing on her computer, "The first victim is Susannah Mills, who used to be a psychiatrist at a local clinic. She was the daughter of Harold and Martha Mills, who currently live in southeast Chicago."

"What about the other victims?" Prentiss asked, leaning her elbows against the oak wood of the round table.

"Our second victim is Mariah Phyllis, who was a nurse and living with her only living relative, which is her 16-year-old brother, Daniel Phyllis." Garcia clicked a button on the remote and brought up a photo of the Phyllis siblings posing for a photo. The photo showed a young woman, who I assumed to be Mariah, in a black graduation gown with her arms wrapped around a shorter boy, who I assumed to be Daniel. They both had big smiles, as if they would be happy forever. But fate is never kind.

"Our third victim is Nikita Jones, who worked as a vet at the Love and Hope Veterinary Center. She lived by herself with her two cats, who were promptly founded new homes, so don't worry, they're okay." I chuckled at Garcia's words. It was funny how she could talk about dead victims so easily and yet, something about animals always got to her. Perhaps it's because animals are helpless, and couldn't survive on their own for very long if they were thrown into the wild.

"What about the fourth victim?" Hotch prompted.

"Ah, right, your fourth and last victim is one Avery Pearson. Pearson lived with her fiancee, Christopher Feilds, and worked as a doctor at- oh this is interesting," Garcia paused as she fixed her glasses, looking down at her laptop and squinting as she read..

"What's interesting?" I asked.

"Pearson worked at the same medical facility as our second victim," Garcia gasped as her eyes lit up. "Is this a clue?" 

Prentiss chuckled and nodded, "Yes, this is a clue. Great job Garcia." Garcia's smile grew even wider, which only prompted me to smile a little too. Her almost constant positivity was a light that this team desperately needed in dark times. 

"I noticed that all of the victims work in the medical field. Mills is a psychiatrist, Phyllis is a nurse, Jones is a vet, and Pearson is a doctor," Davis mentioned.

Hotch was about to respond when a young agent that I didn't know the name of poked his head into the room. He was short and fit, with tan skin and black hair. "Agent Hotchner?" 

Hotch looked up to meet the agent's eyes. "Yes?"

"A 'Rebecca Kate' is here to see you. She says it's urgent." 

Hotch furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He clearly had never heard the name before. "Do any of you guys know a 'Rebecca Kate'?" He asked, looking at the agents at the round table. We all shook our heads. Hotch looked back up at the agent, who was still in the doorway.

"Have her wait in my office, I'll be there in a moment." 

"She's already in your office, sir. She demanded to speak to you as soon as possible," The agent replied. Hotch only looked more confused. I looked at Garcia and she shrugged. She had no clue what was going on either.

"Alright, you guys continue, fill me in on the plane. Wheels up in an hour," Hotch stood up and pushed in his chair, grabbing his case file and following the young agent out of the room. We all stayed silent for a moment, not sure what to do next. "Rossi?" I asked, confused.

"I dunno, I've never heard of a 'Rebecca Kate'," He responded with a shrug.

"Anyone else heard of her?" I asked, looking around the room. Everyone seemed to be just as confused as me except for JJ, who seemed to be deep in thought.

"JJ?" Prentiss asked, placing her hand on JJ's shoulder to get her attention. JJ jumped, startled, and Prentiss quickly removed her hand. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Are you alright?" 

JJ narrowed her eyes. "I'm trying to remember who Rebecca Kate is... I swear I remember her name from somewhere," She said, eyes glued to the table in concentration.

"Wait, you know who Rebecca Kate is?" I asked while leaning forward in my seat curiously. Everyone in the room was watching JJ, waiting for an answer.

"Yes..." JJ paused, before suddenly straightening up in her seat. "Oh! I remember! Rebecca Kate is one of Heather's good friends! She told me she and her went clothes shopping on Heather's day off a few months ago," Her eyes lit up at the realization.

Instantly concern entered my gaze. Kate wouldn't be here if she just wanted to say hi. I'm sure she had better things to do. So why was she here? I rested my elbows against the table and began to bounce my leg anxiously, which Prentiss seemed to notice.

"Morgan, are _you_ alright?" Prentiss turned the attention from JJ to me.

I looked up at her, my eyebrows furrowed worriedly. "Kate wouldn't be here unless she had a good reason to. At least, that's what I think." I shot up from my seat and grabbed my phone which was resting on top of the case file on the table, switching it on and typing in the passcode.

"What are you doing?" Garcia asked, now concerned as well. 

"Calling Heather," I pressed '2' on speed dial and held the phone up to my ear, beginning to pace nervously.

"Morgan, you need to relax. I'm sure Collins is fine," Rossi stood up and placed his hands on my shoulders to steady my pace. But the longer the phone rang, the more anxious I felt.

After five rings, the phone went to voice message. I groaned and turned my phone off, sitting back in my seat in frustration. "Why isn't she picking up? She always picks up the phone." 

"Morgan, like Rossi said, Collins is probably fine," Prentiss said in as calm of a voice as she could muster. But even she had a worried look in her eyes.

Before I could reply, Hotch re-entered the room. But this time, a young woman trailed in behind him. We all looked up at Hotch in anticipation. "Everybody, this is Rebecca Kate, Collins' friend," He introduced. Kate was pretty, most likely in her late twenties. Her hair was a light ginger color, curling down to her shoulders. She was a small woman, but with a strong build. Her dark brown eyes surveyed the room, and although she put on a confident front, she was nervous.

"Hi Rebecca, I'm JJ," JJ was the first to introduce herself, standing up and shaking Kate's hand politely with a welcoming smile. Everyone took turns shaking her hand, and I decided to go last. I approached Kate and extended my hand, reading every little micro-expression she emitted. Her palm was soft, yet her grip was strong. I held on for a little longer then was probably socially acceptable to see if she would break the handshake first, yet she didn't. She was overcompensating. Trying to hide how nervous she was. "Derek Morgan," I finally introduced myself before stepping back.

"Rebecca Kate. Nice to meet you all," She made eye contact with everyone on the room as she spoke. She had most likely practiced lines before meeting us. There was definitely some anxiety there.

"Rebecca got a call from Heather this morning, and it worried her, so she came here to see if we could make any sense of it," Hotch explained. He gestured for Kate to sit, and she smiled politely and sat down where Heather usually sat. The rest of the team took our seats and listened closely while Kate played the phone conversation back.

 _"Rebecca,"_ Heather's voice was the first to be heard. Her voice was calm, certain. That worried me. 

_"Hey Heather, I'm glad you called! I was actually just about to call you,"_ Kate replied in the recording.

_"I don't have time to talk right now, I just needed to tell you something."_

_"What do you mean? Heather, are you alright?"_ Now was when Kate began to sound worried.

_"Listen, you're the only person I can trust right now, so I needed to tell you this before I left. The section chief of the BAU ordered my team to stop searching for Spencer's killers."_

_"What? That's awful! Why would she do that?"_ Kate had responded.

 _"It doesn't matter. I just wanted you to know that I'm going to be gone for a few days, maybe even a few weeks. I'm not sure,"_ Heather sounded like she was writing something down on the other side of the line and moving some papers around.

_"Wait, why?"_

There was a few moments of silence.

Dreadful, deafening silence.

_"Because it's time to take matters into my own hands."_

The phone disconnected.


	6. Chapter 5 [No One Can Stop Me, I Dare You To Try]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When I'm necromancin', everyone's dancin'_   
>  _No one can stop me, I dare you to try_   
>  _The dead are infused with sensational groove_   
>  _And they're coming for you now_   
>  _There's nowhere to hide_

**Sunday, two weeks after funeral**

_Hotch's POV_

We haven't seen Collins in two weeks. That worried me.

I'm sure Garcia has sent over fifty fruit baskets to Collins' apartment. I overheard her talking to Morgan about how worried she was about Collins, especially since she hadn't even taken the baskets inside. Collins has a weird obsession with oranges, and yet there were baskets of untouched tangerines right outside her door.

Collins and I had an odd relationship. We bonded over our workaholic tendencies, and I didn't realize how much I enjoyed spending time talking to her until she suddenly didn't show up at work. I find myself looking out into the bullpen from my office more often, looking for Collins so I could ask her what she thought on the case we were working on. I texted her the day after the funeral and told her that she could take as much time off as she needed, and I was left on read. From what I understood she hasn't responded to anyone since Dave visited her at Reid's grave.

I could tell Morgan was unhappy. First he lost who he saw as his younger brother, and now one of his best friends isn't responding to any of his texts. He and Garcia tried to get her out of her apartment. Everyone on the team had tried except me. I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything. If Dave couldn't get her out, nobody could.

We were all coping with the loss of Reid in different ways. Dave leaves work early and spends his time sitting in front of his fireplace, drinking some old scotch and contemplating what he could have done differently. Morgan spends extra time at the shooting range or the punching bags in the gym downstairs, anything to get his anger out in a healthy way. Garcia keeps a smile on her face and remains positive no matter what, and then goes home to the solitude of her home and cries until she can't cry anymore. JJ spends time with the friends she has left, trying to forget the fact that one of her closest is gone.

Prentiss and I are similar. We bury ourselves in paperwork and put all our energy into each case, and then we go home and sleep the rest of the day. It was an unhealthy habit, but I'd never admit that out loud.

I was sitting in my office sipping on a small glass of bourbon as the rest of the team went home. Prentiss and Davis stayed behind to finish extra paperwork that wasn't completed on the plane ride home.

The Chicago case was rough. We had spent all of last week working on it. I could tell the team was unhappy. During the case the chief of police said something like, "I think there's some sort of statistic on how many women are killed in Chicago a day, but I can't remember what it is," and I noticed Morgan subconsciously looking around the room for what I believe to be Reid, because when he couldn't find him, his eyes saddened. We all knew if Reid were there he could pull up the statistic as if he were pulling up a computer page.

On the jet, Prentiss spent around half an hour looking around the entire jet to find Reid's old chess board. When I asked why she wanted it, she said that she wanted to play a game with me in honor of Reid. So I asked JJ where it was, and we eventually found it in the pullout storage space under the couch he had claimed as his own so long ago. This led to a team-wide chess tournament, and we played the entire flight back. I smiled fondly at the memory. In times like this, we really needed to be able to let our guard down and just have fun for a while.

Morgan, obviously, had found a way to bring money into the tournament. So each time a new round began, we would get money on who would win. I ended up making 10$, and Dave made the most money out of all of the team, scoring 70$ by the end of the flight.

I heard a quiet knock on my door and I looked up to see Prentiss in the doorway. Her eyes went from me to my bourbon and she gave me a playful stern glare. "Hotch, you know the rules about drinking at work."

"And you know the rules about stealing your coworkers food from the community fridge," I shot back.

Prentiss rolled her eyes. "It was _one_ time! And Morgan was basically asking for it, playing that prank on me." She was still in the doorway, hands on her hips.

I scoffed playfully and took a sip of my bourbon. "What do you need, Prentiss?"

"Oh, I was just coming in to say Davis and I are leaving for the day. He's giving me a ride home."

"Alright, be careful. And hey, you know the rules about office romances," I reminded, completely serious. Although I knew Prentiss wasn't currently in any office relationships, I could clearly see how her and Davis got along from in the bullpen. I could tell there were short flirtatious remarks every now and then.

Prentiss crossed her arms defensively. "We are NOT an item, Hotchner. Don't profile me."

I raised my eyebrows. "Full name?"

She rolled her eyes again. "See you tomorrow." And with that she turned around and left my office to go home.

I was officially the last person in the office, as usual. I wasn't ready to go home quite yet. As long as I was at work I was able to control my emotions. At least, better then when I'm at home. Home was where I could let my guard down, and I wasn't quite ready to do that yet.

I tipped the glass of bourbon against my lips and felt the rest of the bitter drink slide down my throat with a burning sensation. Setting the now empty glass on the desk in front of me, I stood up. I should probably get going, seeing as it was 11 at night and I needed to be here tomorrow. Hopefully it would just be a desk day. I was exhausted, and didn't know if I could handle another case tomorrow without at least 5 cups of coffee and an energy drink. Maybe two energy drinks. Or three.

I gathered the finished paperwork in my hands, stepping to my door to grab my blazer from the coat hanger by the door to my office. I slid my arms into the dark sleeves and grasped the empty glass to bring home and wash, grabbing my briefcase and keys as well. I did one last 180 around my office before deciding I had everything I needed and shut off the light, closed the door, and locked it. For a moment, I just stood there, still. I was definitely not ready to go home, but I had to leave now.

My mind drifted back to when I was thinking about Collins and the team earlier. I was the only person who didn't visit her. What if she was waiting for me? I wasn't sure why she would be waiting for me, but it was worth a shot. It would definitely solve my predicament of not wanting to go home yet.

I carried my stuff down to the bullpen and ran by the 'finished paperwork' bin where the rest of the team put their work, and then grabbed the thick stack of work and put my work on top of it. Grabbing an empty box next to the table, I carefully set the stack all in the box. I grabbed a lid and placed it on top, writing the address to the director's office. I was the one who had to mail the paperwork to the director's office for him to look over, which is why I did this after every case.

I placed a stamp on the box and picked it up, slightly struggling to carry the bourbon glass, my briefcase, and the box at once, but I figured it out by placing the briefcase atop the box, and the glass atop the briefcase. I carried the items over to the elevator and placed the box down, pressing the "1" button and feeling a slight tug in my stomach as the elevator began going down. It only took around fifteen seconds to reach the bottom floor, since the BAU was on the sixth. With a ding the elevator doors opened up and I stepped out. There were two security officers, who's names, I believe, were Josiah and Ian, who were getting ready to clock out for the day.

Ian looked up and caught my eyes. "Are you leaving?" He asked as he grabbed his coat.

"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow." I replied.

"Alright, drive safe, Agent." Josiah dipped his head respectfully as I walked through the metal detector. It was specially made to not detect the FBI certified guns, which was the reason why the alarm didn't go off every time an agent entered the building.

I placed the box of paperwork in the 'Outgoing Mail' pile by the security office, picked up my glass and briefcase, and left the building. An instant breath of fresh air hit me and I closed my eyes as I drank it in. The air tasted natural, clean, which was surprising for the amount of pollution in Quantico. Crickets were quietly chirping in the background and cars could be heard speeding by, most likely on their way to somewhere important, like home.

I made my way across the courtyard that I had walked hundreds, if not thousands of times before. Normally it was bursting with life. The men and women who worked here would be talking, mingling. But now it was quiet, calm. My favourite time of day. Well, night, technically.

Nighttime was when the entire world was quiet and I could be completely alone to contemplate. Dave sometimes joined me in our quiet contemplation. I could remember many nights where he showed up, uninvited with a bottle of some sort of alcohol and we just sat in silence, basking in each other's presence. He always seemed to know when I needed a friend. I suppose that's what I get for being friends with profilers. Can't hide anything from profilers nowadays.

I got in my personal car which was parked in my own parking spot. All the unit chiefs got their own parking spot by the building of their choice, as a perk. Additionally, we all got a personal trainer. I haven't seen mine in a while, though. I prefer training alone.

As I put my briefcase on the passenger's seat, I buckled up and started the car. It rumbled to life, and with that, I was off. Off to hopefully talk to Collins.

\------------

I was walking down a long hallway, doors lining the walls.

The floorboards were a dark oak colour, a colour which I personally liked. It was similar to the flooring at my apartment. The wallpaper was a simple egg white, and the doors were all a similar dark brown to the floor. Collins' apartment complex was simple, despite being called an apartment 'complex'. When I entered the front of the building all I had to do was give proof that I knew Collins, to which I flashed my badge and they let me right through. But not before asking if Collins was in trouble. Apparently the night worker was friends with Collins. The lady was a young African-American woman, with a deep voice. She called me 'baby' multiple times during our exchange, which made me slightly uncomfortable, but I ignored it.

I had never been to Collins' apartment before, so I kept my guard up out of habit. I knew there was nothing to be worried about, but being an FBI agent, I couldn't help it. Collins' apartment number was 714. My eyes glided across the gold-plated numbers on the doors as I mentally counted up.

_709_

_710_

_711_

_712_...

I glanced up and realized that her apartment was the middle apartment at the very end of the hallway. Right, of course, it's the apartment with a bunch of fruit baskets in front of the door. Quietly to not wake her neighbors, I approached the door. I felt tense, like I knew something was wrong but I didn't know what yet. I had to keep telling myself that Collins is okay, she's just in her bed, sleeping. I knew this was probably the worst time to show up, and yet here I was. At her apartment, in front of her door.

I lifted my hand to knock on the door, but I hesitated. What if she didn't want to see me? If she wouldn't open the door for anyone else, she wouldn't open it for me.

But I could still try, right?

I gave a light knock. Two, quick, light knocks with my right hand, my dominant hand. It was similar to Reid's way of knocking, except his were slower and softer. Reid could probably tell me some fact about how knock volume dictates certain personality traits. He always had a fact for any conversation. Probably half of my knowledge has come from his random facts he had shared over the years.

I waited for a couple moments before knocking again, this time a little louder. "Collins? Its Hotch." I spoke, listening carefully for any movements. I heard nothing from inside the apartment, not even her cat, which tended to be quite noisy when somebody knocked on the door. I didn't hear a meow, a noise from Collins, nothing.

The nervous feeling from earlier returned, and this time I didn't ignore it. I could see from the bottom of the door that the light was off in the house. My brain shifted back to the call that Rebecca Kate had showed us.

I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and quickly jerked it in a rotating motion, expecting the door to just be locked.

But it wasn't.

The FBI agent in me kicked in and I swiftly grabbed my gun from the holster on my belt, holding it in front of me protectively. I switched my gun from my right hand to my left, and mentally prepared myself for whatever was behind the door. At this point, I didn't care if I was loud or not. Heather could be in danger, so I needed to make sure she was okay.

Taking in a few deep breaths, I pushed open the door and rushed in. FBI academy taught me to take as much in in as little time as possible in case I ran into danger at a potential unsub's house or apartment. The apartment was small, and clean. There were fake plants placed around the room, making it feel a lot more homey and bright. When you first enter the apartment, you're met with the kitchen that opens up into the livingroom. The entire back wall of the livingroom was a window which had a view of the entire city, and against the window was a coffee table with books stacked on top haphazardly. There were a couple case files strewn arbitrarily on the floor by the coffee table. Otherwise, it was a fairly clean house.

This wasn't a crime scene, I realized. Unless the unsub was smart. But knowing Collins, she would go out fighting. If the unsub was able to capture Collins, he was strong, and most likely had prior training.

Silently, I scolded myself. I didn't even know if this was a crime situation, I couldn't jump to conclusions.

I ignored the disorganized coffee table for now, moving silently through the apartment and down the hallway in between the kitchen and livingroom. There were three doors in the hallway, two to the right and one to the left. I pressed myself against the wall to the right. The closest door was already open, and inside it was a small office space. I entered the room with the gun in front of me, taking everything in while looking around the room as quickly as possible. It was clear, of course, because the room was so small nobody could hide in it.

The room had a desk in the very back, with a chair behind it. There was a PC on top on it with a couple books stacked on the desk, which seemed to be books on psychology. There were two bookshelves along the left filled to the brim with books, as well as a chess board to the right. It was a nicely decorated office, although I personally wouldn't own that many books. Reid definitely had rubbed off on Collins while he was alive. Every time Collins had said she hadn't read a certain book before, Reid would take her to the bookstore and buy it. Collins would try and pay him back, but he always said no. He used to say that the real sin isn't destroying books, it's not reading them.

Collins always found a way to repay him by slipping money into his wallet, though.

I left the office and right across from the office was what I assumed to be Collins' room. The door was already open, revealing a perfectly made bed and a tv on the wall, but I couldn't see behind the wall where I assumed to be a bathroom in. My mind flashed back to three weeks ago. Collins had radioed in that she needed a medic immediately, and I heard the clear panic in her voice, which meant it was serious. Collins doesn't panic. She's almost always able to remain calm. So I had grabbed Prentiss and Dave and we drove back to the house as quickly as possible. When I had entered the bathroom in the house, I saw Collins crouched over the body, sobbing quietly. She had clutched him close to her body, cradling his head against her chest as she wailed sorrow.

With the memory fresh, I felt adrenaline hit me as I slid as fast as I could to the bathroom. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion as memories consumed me.

I turned the corner, clutching my gun close. I almost didn't want to enter the bathroom. I could almost see Heather's dead, lifeless body lying on the bathroom floor. Right next to Reid's.

But when I entered the bathroom...

It was empty.

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. And that's when I felt it.

The gun.


End file.
